He tugged her hands away, and pulling her toward him, kissed her—hard, long, and hungrily.
Engulfed in his arms—it felt intensely desperate—one hand pressed her against his erection, the other slid over her nape and into her hair to cup her head. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she squeezed him as tightly as she could wanting to give him something to remember home with. When the kiss broke up, she whispered, "I had a wonderful time too. You be careful over there. I'm very proud to know you, Lou."
He took a long, serious look at her as if memorizing her face, lifted a hand as if to touch her again, and gave her a wry smile. "Take care, honey."
She lost sight of him when he stepped on the train, but not before he turned and gave her one more salute, a more casual salute. Sitting on a bench in the old part of the station, she felt inexpressibly sad. Had she just missed out on something important in her life? No, it had just been a chance meeting with a great guy. She closed her eyes as the memories of what he'd done heated her blood. The hair on her arms stood straight up. Oh, God, please keep him safe.
***
"Have you had an e-mail lately from your hunky cowboy soldier?"
"Not for the last month." Lorren looked up from the brief she was writing. She and Monica were holed up in a study room at the law school's library.
"Is that unusual?"
"No, sometimes he writes a few times a week, then it drops off for awhile. I assume he's out in the field. I don't know how wives or children or parents stand this, not knowing what's happening to their loved one, not that I love him, but I do know him and still worry. It must be a hundred times worse for family members."
"I imagine the holidays are especially bad for them," Monica added.
"Yeah, in early November I sent a package to him. They say to send them early to Afghanistan. I haven't even heard if he got it. And how would I even know if he's okay—or not?"
"Did he say what town he was from? Maybe you could Google his name and see if anything comes up."
"I guess I could do that."
Two weeks later, Lorren got an e-mail from Jess thanking her for the box and asking what she was doing for the Christmas holiday. Then he said that his unit would be out in the field for quite a while and not to worry if she didn't hear from him. Yeah, like that was going to happen.
That e-mail was December 21st, and she never heard from him again. She did Google his name, found his family in Cataldo, Idaho, and decided to monitor the local newspaper hoping not to see his name in the death notices. It would probably be on the first page, since his family seemed prominent in the area.
She couldn't afford to dwell on this, though. Law school graduation and taking the Bar took up all her time and brain energy. Maybe some day…
Chapter Six
Somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan—
"You still e-mailing that woman in Chicago, Lou?"
"Not lately. In case you haven't noticed, we're kind of busy right now."
"Yeah, I noticed, but I also noticed that kiss you gave her at the station. She was pretty hot."
First Lieutenant Croften hid his ambivalence about Lorren. He remembered that kiss too and the whole day they'd spent together. He couldn't let the memories distract him from his job, though. His and everyone else's lives depended on him, and, right now, they were out in middle of fucking nowhere.
And all hell was breaking loose—
"Get the fuck down, Hinton! They're firing!" Jess was as used to battle as anyone could be. Ten months on the ground looking for the Taliban and he wondered if he'd ever get the sand out from between his ass cheeks. But there was no time to dwell on that, the squad he'd taken out today was being fired upon.
One man was down. Shit. On his belly, Jess crab-crawled over to him. Fingers to his throat. Dead. In his earpiece, he heard, "We're pinned down over here."
Fuck, they all were.
Thump—thump. Two rounds plowed into his thigh. He grunted at the burning pain as he gazed down unbelievingly at the holes in his pants and at the blood seeping through. Shit. No time for this fucking crap. Nothing he could do about it. They needed to take cover.
The other men were concealed behind boulders lining the ravine. Mortar shells shot from the hills above them landed short, but he expected the enemy's aim to be corrected any time now. Wherever a flash was sighted, his men trained their M16s on it and fired. They had a tight window of opportunity before fire was returned.
He'd called in their position and requested support. Another squad was two miles behind, but he didn't know how long it would be before they arrived or if they were under fire too.
They were being picked off like ducks in a shooting gallery. He knew that in his nightmares forever more, if he himself lived through this, he'd hear the sounds of rounds hitting his men. He'd hear their groans, their death rattles.
Then he heard the whistle of the RPGs, explosions, and more shouts. Twenty yards to his left, a shell from above them landed near two of his men, the concussion tossing them into the air. Where the hell is that support? Digging down deeply into his training and experience, he knew it was no time for emotion, and he signaled the remaining men back. They raced across the uneven ground to a shallow cave in the wall of rock. Another soldier fell. Jess rolled to the fellow's side and determining he was dead, gritted his teeth, pushed back his own pain and rage, and ran, loping with an off-balanced gait across the ground.
At the cave, he turned to make sure everyone else got in safely. Gonzalez and Pentland. That was all. The three men sat against the rock wall and took stock. Sonofabitch, they'd been injured too. Only three men out of eleven were still alive.
"Where the hell's the support?" Gonzalez barked.
What a fucking nightmare. Pinned down in a cave, three injured men, no air support. Jess had to accept the possibility that they wouldn't get out of there. At least not alive. Gonzalez had been nicked in the neck, and Pentland had been shot in the arm. None of their injuries were serious, but that didn't mean a goddamn fucking thing if they didn't get medical help soon.
The sounds of explosions echoed around them, echoed off the rough stones, dust and bits of rock fell over the men. He'd lost his communication with the platoon, didn't know if they were being attacked or rescued. When he heard the thwapping of helicopter blades, he peered out of the cave entrance to see a U.S. medivac and a Chinook land in a whirlwind of dirt.
Three hours after the firefight began, three out of his squad were alive. The copters had transported all of them out. Jess argued that his injuries were not life threatening, but he'd nevertheless earned a trip to the field hospital. He wouldn't let them put him under to remove the rounds until he'd been assured that his two surviving men were being treated. He'd had casualties before out on patrol, but never as many. This devastated him in a way that he couldn't comprehend.
One of the casualties is nineteen, two are twenty-one. Had been. Gonzalez had lost a lot of blood. Pentland's arm wound wasn't as bloody. Who knew what awaited them back at Reinstadt?
After the others were seen to, Jess welcomed the anesthesia as they put him under. The emotional pain far outweighed his physical pain. He wanted his dad, who'd been in Nam and would understand. He wanted his brother Sam. His last thought was of a woman in Chicago. He barely knew her, but their brief affair stood out as a time of normalcy. I wonder if she's still...
As it turned out, Jess's muscle damage was more serious than originally thought. Even after he returned home and was discharged, he used a cane and finally ended up walking with a limp. The limp he could live with. He'd be damned if he'd use a cane for any length of time. He was almost thirty, not eighty.
Riding his horse was the best therapy, because it helped strengthen the thigh muscles. He was doing all right. Except for the nightmares. He made a deal with himself. If he could go a week without a nightmare, he'd deem himself safe to go back to Chicago to look up Lorren.
***
"Lorren, you have a call on four."
&nbs
p; "Who is it," she called back over the sound of the copier beating out rhythmically with ten copies of the response brief due that afternoon in federal court.
"Don't know. He wouldn't give his name."
She stilled for a minute, then shook her head. Oh, she was laughable. It had been a year, and she still fantasized that Jess Croften would come back into her life. "Hello, Lorren Samples speaking."
It wasn't dead air on the line, but she could barely hear the breathing. "Hello, may I help you?" She let the irritation show in her voice. She was in a time crunch after all.
"Lorren."
She backed out of the noisy copy room, stretching the phone cord. She couldn't have heard right. "Jess?" she responded warily.
"Can I see you?"
His abrupt question startled her. It had been several months since she'd had an e-mail from him. There'd been no mention in his newspaper, so she hadn't thought he'd been killed.
"Or are you married?"
"I'm not married."
"Can I see you?"
"How did you find me?"
"I called Blandy's office, and they gave me this number. Did you graduate law school?"
"Yes." She had to lean on the wall, tip her head back on the hard surface, and try to calm her thudding heart.
"Will you meet me?"
In order to give herself time to think, she asked, "Are you married?"
"No, Lorren, I'm not. If you'll meet me, I'll explain everything."
Time, time, I need time to think.
"Please meet me, Lorren."
She closed her eyes and swallowed heavily. He actually pleaded. Silence from the copier. "I'm on trial right now and am due back in court in an hour."
"Already? You already have a case in court?"
"Yes. We're a small not-for-profit, and they need all the help they can get."
"Is this an at-risk women and children thing?"
"I'm impressed you remember what I said that day."
"Oh, Lorren, I remember everything. I thought about you a lot."
She still had to get this brief copied and was due back in court no matter what was going on in her personal life. "I have to get back soon."
"Can you meet me after? For dinner?"
God, what am I supposed to do? She had work to do. He'd dropped his e-mails to her six months before. He could wait another couple of hours. She bit her lip, made a decision. When she hung up the phone, she had to grip the side of the copier to steady her hands. She couldn't shake apart now. This brief was important. Shit!
So, that's how she ended up standing in the lobby of the Hancock Building waiting for Jess. He'd asked her for a drink at the lounge on the 96th floor. She'd made dinner reservations at the Signature Room one floor below in case things went well. She popped a lemon candy into her mouth, dry from nerves. Her heart beating rapidly, she saw him swing in through the revolving doors.
Jesus. He looks even better now, and he'd looked majorly hot in his camouflage uniform. Navy suit, pink shirt, no tie. She smiled, couldn't help it. He's too good looking to be true, she thought for the hundredth time. Butterflies lurched inside her stomach, boinging off the sides.
"You look marvelous, ma'am." He leaned in to kiss her cheek, then guided her with a hand at her elbow into the elevator at ground level and out at the top.
"Thank you, sir." He obviously approved of her dress—black knee length sheath dress with narrow straps. A nice amount of bosom plumped up over the neckline, not obscenely, but just enough to show him that she was still hot. Because, after all, she was still four years older than he.
From his reaction though, he made her feel still sexy at thirty-three. Hair scooped loosely atop her head with rioting ringlets and black satin, three-inch heeled slip-ons with big grosgrain bows on the fronts completed the picture. Yup. She was thirty-three now and proud of it. For the moment, though, she wouldn't focus on the four-year age difference.
The skyline from the 96th floor at sundown was spectacular, thank goodness. Lorren wanted to make a good impression on him. For herself and her city.
The cocktail waitress arrived.
"Champagne?" He tilted his lips, a smile that brought out deep crinkles at the corners of his eyes and promised... "I told you that I thought about you a lot over there."
She needed time to digest the implications of that. "Are you on leave again?"
"No, I've been discharged."
"I'm glad. I mean I'm glad you're home safe and sound."
"Me too." He gave her the benefit of his million-kilowatt smile.
"Why'd you stop writing me? I didn't know what happened to you."
"Things heated up. I was away from the main base."
"I don't know what to say. I don't know what you've gone through over there. It must have been horrific."
"At times," he replied.
Her heart seemed to clog in her throat. On the news, she'd seen guys like Jess patrolling dusty streets, kicking in doors, running for cover. It was a life she had no way of understanding.
"Don't think about that. I'm here to see you." He hooked a finger under her chin. "Am I still welcome?"
She'd been watching his eyes during his story. Their dark, rich depths mesmerizing, his expression a little too impassive. He wasn't telling her the complete story, but she wouldn't cross examine him about it now. He came back to Chicago for me? Why?
"I really haven't stopped thinking about you." He brushed his forefinger along her jaw.
"Well, we did have kind of a hot night." She held still, held her breath, watched his lips.
"It wasn't just that," he murmured.
"Oh, really, you came back for more of my scintillating conversation?" She didn't know what was going on. She'd fantasized about him for so long. To have him back and to have another chance with him was astonishing.
"I'm glad I called you."
"Me too," she replied. For a while, they were quiet. She sipped her champagne, met his gaze and held it, her cheeks heated. Trying to interest him in the view of the city didn't distract him. He'd nod approvingly and then stare at her again. Nervously, she sipped too quickly. She could have watched his beautiful face all night and became lost in his eyes for long minutes until something, the sound of laughter from other tables, the jostling of chairs as a party stood to go broke their absorption in each other.
On their way to the table in the dining room, he steadied her elbow. She needed food quickly. Her head reeled in a wonderfully dangerous way. She didn't doubt that she'd sleep with him, but she wanted to be sober enough to enjoy it. The sun had set with pink and red and orange stripes flaring across the skyline in the west, and the city lights along the lakefront twinkled spectacularly. She couldn't keep the loopy smile off her face.
"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary." He chuckled as he held the chair for her.
"I'm happy to amuse you." She carefully and precisely draped the napkin over her lap. "I think I need some food. I'm feeling a little high."
"Yes, because I'd like this evening to end a little differently than the last time."
"Oh—you would?" Her heart thumped an extra beat at the husky carnality in his voice.
"Yeah." He leaned toward her and slid his hand across the table, palm up.
With a slow, flirtatious but wobbly smile, she placed her hand in his. Her whole body remembered what he'd done, even though it had been a year before. Her breasts ached, and he hadn't touched them. Yet. She followed his gaze down to her chest. Damned if her pointy nipples weren't poking against the material of her bodice. Her lips parted, and she looked up into his victorious eyes. "Can't hide them, can I?" she said wickedly.
"Not any more than I can hide my arousal." His lips tipped up in an equally wicked smile.
By the time they'd finally be alone, she'd be so hot for him she'd probably burst into flame. The sensual tease of the wait was perfect. She wanted his cock inside her, wanted to touch him, caress his fine, muscular body. Wanted to be caressed by his l
arge, competent hands.
Dinner. The mere act of eating became an erotic tease. She tantalized him with each sip of lobster bisque, pursing her lips to blow across the spoon, closing her eyes as she swallowed, almost forgetting he was there in her own pleasure in the taste. But knowing he watched her lips with a ravenous smile, watched her throat move, watched her toy with the narrow strap of her dress was electrifyingly arousing.
They shared their main courses with each other. She offered him a seared scallop.
He closed his mouth around it taking it delicately right off her fork, his dark eyes glittering in the candle light. "Lamb?" he asked huskily.
"Of course," she responded in a sultry teasing voice. "I'd love some of your—lamb." She drew the word out, torturing him, grazing her tongue over her lips.
He coughed but recovered quickly enough to cut a piece for her.
She slowly parted her lips, leaning forward, closing her teeth on the lamb, and dragging it off his fork.
He watched her, his eyes wide as if stunned, his lips tipped up in a smile.
She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up before she crawled over the table and had her way with him. Her panties were soaked. Her swollen clit ached. She'd never wanted anyone more than she wanted him.
They skipped dessert this time.
Chapter Seven
Through the lobby of his hotel and into the elevator, he kept his arm firmly around her waist, his palm splayed over her midriff just below her breast, his thumb teasing the underside. Lorren rested her head on his shoulder, waiting for the first second of privacy. This waiting was both heavenly and hellish, but she had no doubt it would be worth it.
He nuzzled her neck. "You all right," he asked in a soft whisper.
She rested a hand on his belt buckle, her fingers smoothing along the placket of his zipper, his thick cock filling her palm. "Oh, yeah." She squeezed, eliciting a grunt from him.
"Not dizzy from the champagne?"
"Just enough." Her voice was a sexy purr.
He slid his keycard into the slot, opened the door, and closed it behind her.
She leaned into him. "Jess, I can't believe you're here," she whispered. Then she took his face in her hands and licked his lips. "I want to fuck your brains out."
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